Freya stared at the ceiling.
Her lips moved slightly.
“The fifth one.”
Her voice carried undisguised disappointment.
“Each one is worse than the last.”
She raised her right hand, gesturing as she counted.
“The first one couldn't even manage the stability of their magic circuit.”
“When the airflow started swirling, they looked like a chicken with broken wings.”
“The second one stumbled through the incantation; they even managed to jam on a three-stage chanting.”
“I was better than him when I was an apprentice.”
“The third one's control precision was a total mess. I asked him to make a feather float, and the feather just exploded.”
“Exploded!”
She repeated it, her tone full of disbelief.
“A single feather! He blew it up for me!”
“The fourth one had memorized the theory perfectly but was a disaster in practice.”
“When I asked him what the core principle of Levitation was, he recited the textbook for ten minutes.”
“Then I let him demonstrate, and he couldn't even make his own staff float.”
“The fifth one…”
She paused for a moment.
“The fifth one was slightly better.”
“At least he managed to get the staff off the ground.”
“But that control precision, that stability…”
“That perception of the wind element flow.”
Her voice grew louder and louder.
“He was completely… completely just—”
She searched for a word for a long time.
Finally, she blurted out one.
“—Trash!”
Having finished her tirade, she slumped back again.
Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing.
But soon.
That anger deflated like a popped bubble.
In its place came a deeper, more unspeakable emotion.
She stared at the cold glow of the magic glowstones on the ceiling.
Her azure eyes reflected that tiny speck of light.
“And yet, such a trashy mage…”
Her voice was very quiet.
“…Has mastered Levitation.”
“And yet I… have not.”
Her fingers curled unconsciously.
Her nails scraped across the velvet of the sofa with an extremely faint rustling sound.
She couldn't understand it.
That Novice Magic.
That oddity that all wind mages privately called an absolute nightmare.
She had seen too many people learn it with ease.
Her classmates at the Wind Tower.
Juniors who had entered years after her.
Even her own apprentice, Betty.
That girl Betty's control precision was so bad it made one want to walk into a wall.
She drove the train like a drunken giant.
But she knew how to do it.
She could actually make that hundred-ton train float unsteadily.
And then there was Freya herself.
The former Wind Tower Master candidate of the City of a Thousand Towers.
The champion of the 24th Magic Conference.
Ranked in the top three for basic wind element control.
The once youngest Legendary magic genius.
Could she make a feather float?
No.
The corner of her mouth curled into a self-mocking arc.
It was a faint expression that was quickly pressed flat.
In truth, she knew.
The wizards and witches of the Magic City had a mastery and understanding of Levitation that far exceeded those who came to Coppergate City to join a transport team.
The Wind Tower there had schools specifically dedicated to studying Levitation.
They had an instructional system passed down for over a dozen generations.
They had mountains of ancient texts and handwritten notes.
If she wanted to learn, going there was the best choice.
But she didn't.
She chose to take a detour to Coppergate City.
She chose this remote central city-state, far away from the Magic City.
Because too many people in the Magic City recognized her.
Too many people knew the name Freya.
Too many people remembered the halos above her head.
She didn't want to lose face.
She didn't want those who knew her to find out that the former Wind Tower Master candidate—the champion of the Magic Conference, the youngest Legendary mage—was hiding in a corner, secretly trying to learn a Novice Magic spell.
And failing to learn it, at that.
Her fingers curled again.
It wasn't just a matter of losing face.
It was her obsession.
From the day she first encountered Levitation, from the day she first discovered that she couldn't make it work no matter what she did, this obsession had taken root.
She was a genius.
This was a fact acknowledged by everyone.
Her perception of magic, her affinity for elements, and her understanding of magic circuits were all far beyond ordinary people.
Any magic that reached her hands only needed to be seen once for her to mimic seventy percent of it.
Three practices and she could grasp the core.
Ten practices and she could master it completely.
This was her talent, the thing she had always relied upon since her apprentice days.
But Levitation broke this rule.
She had watched it countless times. She had practiced it countless times. She had scoured every ancient text she could find and consulted every person she could.
It was all useless.
That damn feather just lay quietly in her palm, motionless.
It was as if it were mocking her.
Mocking all her talent, all her effort, and all her halos.
In the field she was most proud of, she had been slapped hard in the face by a Novice Magic spell.
Therefore, she absolutely could not let any acquaintances discover her learning this in secret.
Those halos, those titles, and those praises had now turned into chains, locking her firmly in this small room, on this dark sofa, under this disguise.
Out of frustration, Freya began to wait.
Three hours passed in this manner.
Outside the door, there was still no movement.
The Transmission Stone lay quietly on the cabinet, unlit.
She stared at the stone, and a hint of uncertainty gradually rose in her azure eyes.
“Am I… being too harsh?”
Her voice was very quiet, as if she were talking to herself.
“Mages who can use Levitation are rare to begin with.”
“Let alone in this remote central city-state.”
“To find five already is…”
She didn't finish.
Right then, the Transmission Stone lit up.
The pale blue halo was exceptionally striking in the dim room.
Freya reached out and picked up the stone.
She injected mana.
The manager's excited voice came through from inside.
“My Lady!”
“I found him! I found a wizard who can absolutely meet your requirements!”
Freya leaned back on the sofa, her tone flat.
“You said the same thing about the previous ones.”
“No, no, no!”
The other party's voice rose several notches.
“This time is different!”
“I saw it with my own eyes! That wizard cast Levitation in just four seconds!”
“And it was exceptionally stable! There wasn't a single tremor!”
Freya's fingers stiffened slightly.
She sat up straight.
“Four seconds?”
“Yes! Four seconds!”
“I saw it myself! There's absolutely no mistake!”
Freya didn't answer immediately.
She held the Transmission Stone, her thumb gently rubbing its smooth surface.
To measure a mage's mastery over a spell, the best standard was to look at their chanting time.
Four seconds.
That was almost catching up to her teacher, the Wind Tower Master.
Her first reaction was disbelief.
How could that level of control precision, a four-second chant for Levitation, appear in a place like Coppergate City?
But then, a black figure flickered in her mind.
Black hair, black eyes.
That plain, unadorned oak staff.
And that near-instantaneous, horrifyingly smooth Levitation.
She froze for a moment.
“Hiss—”
She took a soft breath.
“Could it be another genius from a remote city-state?”
She brought the Transmission Stone to her lips.
“Bring him to see me.”
“I'll see for myself if he has the level you claim.”
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